


where the heart is

by thedaughterofkings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek-centric, Fix-It, Multi, Pack Bonding, Post-Season/Series 04, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedaughterofkings/pseuds/thedaughterofkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say home is where the heart is, so Derek decides to follow his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the heart is

**Author's Note:**

> For [loverofcake](http://www.loverofcake.tumblr.com) whose kind words were a much needed pick me up last night.
> 
> This was written when the news broke that Tyler Hoechlin wasn't going to be a part of teen wolf anymore. It somehow turned from “I am sad and need to write happy Derek fic” into a sort of polyamorous pack centred around Derek Hale fix-it all fic that blatantly ignores several key points in canon. I am so not sorry.
> 
> This was first published on my tumblr [here](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com/post/113636539121/where-the-heart-is) but has now been beta-read and much improved by the wonderful [Larissa](http://www.ohfuckthisshit.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Enjoy the fic and I hope reading it makes you as happy as writing it made me!

It starts in Mexico.

 

Or perhaps it starts at “This is private property.”

 

Or perhaps it starts with the blonde lifeguard smiling at him. No, no, that's not a start, that's the beginning of an end.

  
So it starts in Mexico.

 

Kate has been dealt with – again, wolfsbane, rock salt, iron, garlic and everything else that Stiles and Lydia could find that had even the slightest promise of keeping away the supernatural surrounding her grave in the middle of the Mexican Desert.

 

Peter had slipped out of their grasp in the middle of it all, making a run for it. But he hasn't bothered them since and Derek can tell he is nowhere near Beacon Hills – the link between them is very faint, faint and warped beyond recognition, but it's there and it tells Derek that Peter is alive, and far away from them all.

  
The rest of the pack make their way back to Beacon Hills immediately, aching for home and familiar faces.

 

But Derek doesn't.

 

He can tell when the others realize that. Stiles' face becomes blank, eyes still wide and white in his dirt covered face, just as they were when he came out of the rubble and saw Derek standing there, barely covered by Parrish's jacket wrapped around his waist. But where they shone with surprise, with joy Derek hopes, they don't show anything right now.

 

Scott, who is looking far more weary than Derek has ever seen him, doesn't look surprised. He just smiles, sadly, but fondly, and nods at Derek, not saying anything.

 

Kira honest to God pouts. Then she slips out of Scott's grasp and runs to Derek, wrapping her arms tightly around him. She is warm and alive, and her leather jacket still faintly smells of Derek, even though he gave it to her weeks ago. He is not ashamed to press his face into her neck, breathing in her smell, buried under blood and dirt and fire, and smelling how it slowly mixes with his. He rubs his hands slowly up and down her back, over her arms, and back up to her neck, leaving his scent behind everywhere he touches. She seems to get what he's trying to do because he can feel her smaller hands trying to cover all of his torso, too, until all he can smell is him and her, not separate, but all tangled up.

 

When she finally lets him go, he barely has time to take another breath before Malia crashes into him, almost toppling him over. There's no hesitation in her touch, hands quick and sure of where to leave her scent for maximum impact, a possessive hand rubbing at the soft dip between his head and his neck, rubbing her cheek against his, until he reciprocates and leaves her covered in his scent, too.

 

Scott doesn't just take, he asks.

 

“Can I –?”

 

He's standing in front of Derek with the most hopeful look on his face, and Derek can't get words past the lump in his throat, so he just nods and curls into the warm embrace of the alpha – not his alpha, no, but perhaps the closest he's ever going to get to having an alpha again. Scott is smaller than him, but feels so much bigger in that moment, feels as though he's wrapped around Derek entirely, his scent almost a physical entity. Derek can feel it settle on him, sinking deep, even deeper than Kira's and Malia's scents, until it's almost a part of Derek's own scent. Scott copies Malia's move, rubbing his cheek against Derek's, stubble catching slightly against stubble, and it's awkward, but it isn't at the same time. Scott is blushing when he steps away from the embrace, and Derek is pretty sure, he is too, can feel the blood coursing through his cheeks.

 

Stiles doesn't come to him. He keeps standing near the entrance, arms crossed, face carefully expressionless. But Derek is so used to Stiles’ face being an open book, to being able to read him with just one glance that this only makes Stiles’ feelings even more painfully obvious. Derek keeps sneaking him glances while he says goodbye to the Calaveras, an awkward mix of congratulations and thinly veiled threats. Stiles just stares back. He doesn't move while Chris Argent is shaking Derek's hand or while Parrish draws Derek into a quick embrace, adding two more, though very faint scents to the ones already surrounding his body. Derek looks one last time before he turns to walk over to Braeden who is waiting next to the Toyota. He takes a deep breath, dragging in all the scents covering him like a security blanket, but it isn't enough, can't be enough. Because he can almost taste the one scent that is missing, is not part of the mix. Braeden smiles at him, and he picks up his pace, suddenly desperate to add her scent at least to the mix. Not as a substitute, in her own worth, but as a comfort, yes.

 

He hears quick steps coming up behind him, someone running towards his back, throwing up dust, almost slipping on a stone, and he is just about to turn around, the wolf too close to the surface, when a body crashes into his from behind, arms wrapping around him, trapping his arms. And Derek doesn't have to look, doesn't have to listen carefully to the rapid heartbeat, to know whose breath is tickling his neck, because his scent is surrounding Derek, intertwining with the other scents. Derek stays still for a moment, just breathing, until a sound like a bitten back sob makes him turn around and wrap his arms around Stiles in return. They stand pressed together for several heartbeats, breathing each other in, then Stiles pushes his cheek against Derek's cheek, nose brushing against his ear, and quick as a flash, ducks his head downwards and bites into Derek's neck.

 

“To remember us,” is whispered into Derek's ear and then Stiles turns away and walks towards where Scott, Kira and Malia are waiting for him.

 

Derek feels his neck throb and all he can think of when he drives off with Braeden in the passenger seat, scents heavy in the car, is:

 

“I could never forget you.”

 

~*~

 

Braeden's first hint takes them further south, until they pass a corner one day and Derek has to hit the brakes because Cora is standing in the middle of the street, looking pissed.

 

“You could have called!”

 

“I didn't have to, did I?” Derek replies, jumping out of the car. He has felt their connection getting stronger with every passing day, until he could almost hear her heartbeat and kept catching her scent in the wind. He's sure it was similar for Cora.

 

She's still glaring, arms crossed over her chest, and Derek can't help remembering the last time he saw Stiles. And Cora doesn't keep up her mad façade for long either, literally jumping him, making him catch her mid air and twirl her around like he used to do when they were both much smaller. As it is, it's only his werewolf strength and his sense of balance that keeps them upright. She wraps her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders and  rests her chin on his head, her hair surrounding them like a curtain, his face pressed against her vulnerable throat.

 

“I can still smell them,” she says, mostly to herself.

 

Derek doesn't say anything, after all she's right. There's still hints of Kira all over his leather jacket and back, Malia's scent caught in the fine hair covering his neck, Scott's stubble a hot mark on his cheek and Stiles' bite throbbing in his neck.

 

Cora doesn't add anything either, she just rubs her chin more firmly into his hair.

 

~*~

 

The second week he stays with Cora a package arrives for him. Braeden has gone off to continue her search for the desert wolf, but not before biting his left inner thigh so hard that the bruise stays for two days, her smirk afterwards saying she knows exactly what she's doing.

 

When he opens the package, he's hit with the scent of Lydia, a scent so sweet it almost smells rotten, as though death is just around the corner. There is a dark green henley inside that practically stinks off Lydia. She must have worn it for a week straight to get her scent that deeply entrenched in it. On top of it lies a small piece of paper, covered in Lydia's precise handwriting.

 

Cora says you still smell of the others.

Lydia

 

It doesn't say anything else, but the “and not of me” is strongly implied and Derek smiles as he pulls on the henley, breathing in deeply when he pulls it down his face. There's a hint of the rest of the pack hidden under her scent and Derek tries to take it all in.

 

When Cora comes in that day, she sneezes as she enters his room.

 

“What, did she piss on it? Talk about possessive.” She shakes her head, but Derek can tell from the way she breathes in deeply when she hugs him that she isn't mad, far from it.

 

~*~

 

Derek stays one more week with Cora, just long enough to run under the full moon with her. He might have the advantage of four legs now, but Cora is still faster, running circles around him, playfully tugging on his tail. And yeah, if he'd had any delusions of grandeur because of his new found ability to fully shift into his wolf, her laughing and cooing at how big his ears are and how fluffy his tail is and tugging on both all the time would nip that in the bud.

 

They run, chasing after each other, chasing after rodents, moon beams, ghosts in the night, until they are spent and tired. The sun rise sees them curled up together, Derek's head in Cora's lap, her fingers brushing through his fur, scratching behind his ears, always coming back to rub his head firmly. It's the most peaceful Derek has felt in a long, long time.

 

~*~

 

It's not as though he plans to do it.

 

But the day after the full moon Isaac sends him a picture of Allison in a black beanie with wolf ears attached, grinning widely. The caption says: “Cora said something about big ears...” and Derek is laughing and crying and wow, apparently his mum was right when she said that the full shift takes getting used to, that it leaves your emotions all over the place, brings them close to the surface. When Cora finds him like that, she just rolls her eyes and gives him a noogie.

 

“Just go, you big dork. You know you want to.”

 

And so just a few days later – the last minute flight was expensive and excruciatingly long, but Derek has the money and something to look forward to at the end –  he is coming out of the airport in London and finds himself face to face with a smirking Jackson with his arms opened wide. When Derek doesn't react immediately, he makes a come-hither gesture and bares his teeth in a playful snarl. He smells happy though, calmer than he has ever smelt in Beacon Hills, more settled somehow, and so Derek takes the last few steps forward and lets himself fall into a tight embrace. He ducks his face until his nose is brushing Jackson's collarbone, desperate for something other than the uncomfortable stink of hundreds of people in too small spaces, the stench of fear, vomit and arousal – Derek had to hold his breath every time he had to use the toilets on the plane.

 

Jackson’s breaths are just as deep, and Derek remembers with a pang that he has been alone this whole time and though his stay in London seems to have been good for him, it still can't have been easy all the time. Jackson's hand slowly drags down his back and comes to rest on Derek's hip, curving around it, slipping under his shirt – the one from Lydia – until skin meets skin. Derek just enjoys the warmth radiating from it, not really reacting otherwise, but he does jump when Jackson suddenly pinches him hard. His voice is muffled from where his face is buried in Derek's hair but Derek still understands him well enough.

 

“Don't you dare ask me whether that's 'gay or just British'.”

 

Derek has just spend more than 14 hours on a plane and his brain is not equipped to deal with cryptic statements such as this one, so he just let's out a quizzical noise.

 

Jackson snorts and simply says “Stiles” which is at once not clearing anything up and a sufficient explanation. So Derek just grunts and hopes there is a bed in his near future.

 

~*~

 

Jackson is the one who buys him his first “proper” camera. It's not as though Derek couldn't afford it himself, but it just honestly never crossed his mind to get one. It wasn't as though he needed one. But when Jackson sees him taking pictures of, well, everything with his shitty camera phone, he drags him into the nearest electronics shop, demanding “the best camera they have in stock” which turns out to be a probably very expensive DSLR – Jackson doesn't let him see the price.

 

He spends the rest of the day curled over Derek's shoulder, demanding to see every single picture he takes. Derek realizes how much Jackson's grown up when he keeps expecting a snide comment but the worst he gets is some teasing at the picture of a cloud that looks like a heart, and okay, that really is cheesy. When Derek takes a picture of two little boys trying to feed the squirrels in Hyde Park, not really knowing what draws him to them, Jackson says, sounding fonder than Derek would have expected: “Those two look exactly like Scott and Stiles when we were that age.”

 

And Derek might not have known them then, but he can't unsee it now and he suddenly can't wait to hear what Scott and Stiles themselves would say if they saw that picture. Jackson seems to be reading his mind because he suddenly claps his hands together, making the squirrels scatter, the boys cry and the mum glare at him.

 

“We need to make you a blog! So you can post your pictures and everyone can see what you are up to right now.”

 

And because none of Derek's halfhearted protests have any effect on a Jackson that has made up his mind, Derek finds himself the proud owner of a blog. The first picture he posts is the one of the two little boys and within seconds he gets a notification that someone has commented on it. That someone was Stiles of course, but all he wrote was, well, pure nonsense really. Derek strongly suspects that Stiles just smashed his keys and hit send.

 

Scott follows just a few moments later, and his comment makes more sense, Derek is very happy to note. He writes: “They look just like us!!!” and then a few seconds later “We miss you, too” and Derek isn't good with words, never has been, but he's been inhaling even the faint hint of all their scents that is still clinging to him now for the past month and so he posts the heart cloud next, hoping they'll understand what he's trying to say without words.

 

It takes him a moment of trying to figure out what “less than three” means, but then he turns his head just so, and there it is. They do understand him.

 

~*~

 

He doesn't stay with Jackson much longer; London is getting too busy for him, too many people, sounds, scents. Derek decides not to fly this time, instead driving down with Jackson to Folkestone to take the train. He's ridiculously excited, but when is he going to take a train connecting two countries that goes through a tunnel beneath the sea again?

 

Saying goodbye to Jackson is a quick affair, a short hug; Derek's thumb rubbing over his bite on Jackson's hip, and Jackson pressing his thumb into the bruise he has left on Derek's hip. And then they are off, Jackson back up to London, Derek on his way across the channel towards Isaac and Allison.

 

He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Isaac until they're, well, hugging it out. Derek is used to being the bigger one, the taller one, and he's still bigger, yes, but Isaac is taller, notably so. Derek doesn't have long to contemplate that though, because Allison is pressing into the hug as well, wrapping an arm around each of them. And it's testament to how far they've come that Derek doesn't react other than raising his arm and drawing her in close next to him, too, breathing in their mixed scents and how slowly it turns from two scents intertwining to three scents twisting together, mixing in the air between them.

 

~*~

 

Derek stays with Allison and Isaac far longer than he planned to, freshening up his French, eating Crêpes and fresh fish and watching the waves roll in and back out again and it's just what he needed to be able to deal with his change. He swims to hidden little beaches and shifts there, running along the water line until his fur is heavy with sand and salt, then throws himself back into the waves, shifting mid stroke, chasing fishes and seaweed. He can almost physically feel Laura laughing at his antics and it's strange, acting so carefree, being so carefree, but he's getting used to it, getting – not careless – but more relaxed, and his shift becomes more natural, smoother, until he can go back and forth between his human and his wolf shape in the blink of an eye.

 

He just has to make sure he starts his outings on a nudist beach because his clothes don't survive the shift and the first time he forgot that and was yelled at in French by a tiny little grandmother.

 

His evenings are spent, well, cuddling for lack of a better world. They start of side by side, but by the end of the evening Isaac and Derek are pressed close together, Derek's hand buried in Isaac's curls and Allison spread over both of their laps, often snoring before the movie they are watching has finished. At the beginning of Derek's stay, her head is always in Isaac's lap, his fingers slowly running through her hair, but soon she switches between their laps pretty much every night.

 

The first time she turns in her sleep and her nose presses against his stomach, he almost shifts, bites his lip bloody to keep back his wolf. Allison is awake almost immediately, crouching in front of the couch, knives that have come from god knows where in her hands, trying to find the threat. When Derek explains in halting, insufficient words what happened, her scent sours with shame, with guilt, and Derek feels terrible because it isn't her fault, isn't her guilt or shame.

 

It takes many long, painful – for all sides – talks with Isaac to get Derek to at least start to accept that it isn't his fault either, nor should it be his guilt or shame.

 

~*~

 

Allison doesn't lie stretched out across their laps for a week. Derek has to tug her down eventually, and even then it takes her another week to lie down with her head in Derek's lap again.

 

The first time her head touches his stomach, she stiffens and starts to sit up. It's only Derek's hand in her hair that keeps her lying down – not by pressing her down, Derek would never force her against her will that way, or any way – but by staying relaxed, by keeping on stroking her hair without pause.

 

And it's hard to explain, hard to put into words, but Derek wants her to touch his stomach, wants her scent to overpower the scent of another Argent, a scent that hasn't been here in years but in his imagination, his memory. And Derek will probably never enjoy having someone touch his stomach, will definitely never want anyone to lick it, but having Allison's hair tickling it while they're laughing at French comedies, having the back of her head pressed against it when she's trying to throw popcorn into Isaac's mouth, having her breathing hot air over his shirt while snoring loud enough to startle Isaac awake where his head is nestled into Derek's shoulder, curls tickling his ear, that isn't making cold sweat break out over his body, it's comforting.

 

~*~

 

Derek still has a few loose ends to tie up in New York, neither he nor Laura had been planning to leave for good – or even very long – when they took off for Beacon Hills. Which is why he's standing in a little coffee shop off Broadway and trying to figure out a scent that is just barely there beneath the overwhelming smell of coffee, cinnamon and other collected spices.

 

He still can't quite grasp what smells so familiar, when someone comes up behind the counter, walking backwards carrying a large plate of cinnamon rolls. Derek can see a mess of blonde curls piled high, bright blue ends sticking out of a bun, color matching that of a tattoo that's peeking out of a company shirt. Derek can just make out the bare edges of it, clouds, the full moon, water color style, before the person turns around – and let's the plate drop with a loud bang.

 

“Derek!”

 

It's Erica.

 

~*~

 

Erica takes him to see Boyd just half an hour later – Derek pays for the plate and the rolls when her manager comes in looking pissed, and Erica takes her break, claiming a family emergency. Derek listens carefully to her heartbeat and feels his own speed up slightly, when Erica's heart remains calm and steady throughout proclaiming him family.

 

Boyd reacts much calmer of course, just stretching out his hand for Derek to shake. Derek takes it, of course, but he uses it to slowly drag him into a hug, giving him the opportunity to pull back. They only hug for a few seconds, before Erica jumps on Derek's back, making them all land in a pile on the floor. Boyd is the first to start laughing, Erica joining him soon, and Derek almost doesn't have the breath to laugh with them, because he thought he'd never get this again.

 

They end up lying on the floor for hours, Derek in the middle, his legs trapped by Erica's and Boyd's, their joined hands resting on his stomach. They start off lightly, talking about what all of them are doing right now. Erica is learning to be a tattoo artist, paying for it by working as a barista and Boyd is actually doing a comfortable enough living as an artist – he designs a lot of pieces for Erica to tattoo, and gives art lessons to less privileged children in his spare time. Derek tells them about the pack, how all of them are doing, how's he's sort of accidentally started visiting them all, and how his travel blog filled with photography took off unexpectedly and earns him a nice bit of money now – not that he needs it, but it's nice to have some spare money that hasn't come from an insurance, and it means that he can use more of the insurance money for the pack. He's found that disguising it as Christmas or other gifts works best – it's rude to reject a Christmas gift after all.

 

They slowly make their way into the more heavy topics, Boyd and Erica running away, why they never came back – “We wanted to, but we didn't know if we could”–  how Derek feels about all of that now – “I'm glad you got out when you did. I'm scared to think about what might have happened to you otherwise.” –  and it's probably not enough to make up for all that happened, but it's enough to clear the air for now.

 

~*~

 

Erica training to become a tattoo artist is what convinces Derek to finally get another tattoo, something he's been thinking about since he left Mexiko. It was vague at first, but over the course of his travels a more concrete image has grown in his mind. He tries to describe it to Boyd one evening and then watches in awe how his fingers dance across the page, capturing Derek’s thoughts in paper and charcoal.

 

Erica turns it into blood, ink and fire, drawing flames of pain down his back while Boyd's hands rest on his shoulder blades, keeping him still. It's all worth it though when he looks into the mirror and sees a series of small triskeles running down his back, looking like tiny stars almost, his back a shooting star with his original triskele as the starting point.

 

It might be cheesy, but it feels fitting to have a symbol of hope, of wishes, that are born out of fire and destruction, on his body.

 

~*~

 

Cora calls him one night, crying, asking him: “Did you feel that?” – because a link that was severed just snapped back into place.

 

By the time he makes it to Beacon Hills, she's already been found – or let herself be found. Stiles and Scott are waiting for him at the airport, each drawing him into a long hug before saying anything, Scott rubbing their cheeks together, and Stiles' teeth lightly tugging at the skin of his neck, somehow finding the exact same place where he bit down in Mexico.

 

“Is she – ?” Derek doesn't continue because he doesn't even know what to ask, if he wants to know.

 

But Stiles is already nodding and Scott is smiling at him gently and he says:

 

“Yes, it's really her. Deaton thinks so too and we did every test Lydia and Stiles could find as well just to make sure.”

 

Derek just nods, not trusting his voice in that moment because at the end of the car ride is –

 

Laura.

 

She is waiting for him with open arms, a grin so wide it looks painful stretching across her face, saying: “Come give your big sis' a hug, bugs bunny.”

 

Derek takes a step forward and is hit with her scent, clean, happy, a little bit anxious, but most importantly, not tainted by the stink of death that clung to it the last time he breathed it in.

 

And when he breaks into a run and crushes into her, squeezing her so tightly she has to gasp for air, picking her up and twirling her around and just breathing, breathing, breathing her in, that memory fades, and even the sour notes of nervousness disappear and all he smells is pure, joyful happiness.

 

~*~

  
There's people that say he doesn't have a home, that look at him with pity in their eyes, but Derek just smiles at them and says that his home is where his heart is, and his heart is scattered across the earth.


End file.
